Falling
by AsItBegan
Summary: Set after the fall of the angels, things are almost normal for the Winchester Brothers. Of course, the angels are still locked out of heaven, but life is looking up, for once. But recent events left them realizing just how fragile life is, and how they should maybe take advantage of the calm while it lasts... [Destiel]
1. Chapter 1

"I'm telling you," Sam insisted, "there's something here." He had both hands flat on the table, a map between them. His face was illuminated by the bluish glow of the computer screen, displaying an article about three recent deaths in Huntingdon, Pennsylvania. The bunker was quiet except for the two brothers' increasingly loud voices.

"Three deaths in one town doesn't mean it's our kinda thing, Sam," Dean shot back, crossing his arms. "Could be some psycho, could be accidents. There's nothing there that proves it's-"

"Look, this one report says that this guy's wife told police that he was freaked out the whole night before he died. Said he saw some kind of black dog and thought it was a death omen," Sam interrupted, bringing up another page on the screen. "Black dog. Sounds like our thing."

Dean ran a hand over his tired face. "Okay, sure there's some lore about black dogs, but that one report doesn't mean a thing. He might have just seen a stray, or goddamn Sirius Black, who knows?"

Pushing the front two legs of his chair off the floor and leaning back, Sam sighed. "Come on, Dean. What'll it hurt to take a drive? We've been here for two weeks with no leads. If it's nothing, it's nothing. We'll just come back and wait for something else to pop up."

Dean knew he wasn't going to win this argument. Sam could be pretty stubborn when he wanted to, and it looked like this was one of those times. He had to admit, though, that he was going a little stir crazy. "Alright, fine. Can it wait until morning at least?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam said. He shuffled his papers into a pile and snapped his laptop shut. "Hey, have you heard from Cas in a while?"

Dean looked over casually. "No. Have you?"

"Nah, you know he always contacts you," Sam said, turning towards the door. "Just wondered what he was up to, you know? Now that he doesn't have his grace."

Shrugging, Dean simply said, "No idea."

"Huh. Well, goodnight."

"'Night."

As Sam padded away down the hall, Dean slumped into his favorite leather chair and poured himself a glass of whiskey from the bottle on the end table. He tried to act casual, but he couldn't deny that he was slightly hurt by the fact that Cas hadn't called in a while. Would it kill him to give an update on where he was, what he was up to? After al, he was human now. He had no angelic powers to fall back on if he got into a scrape.

Dean mentally berated himself for worrying. as was a big boy. He could take care of himself. And if he didn't want to call, then that was fine. Cas had no obligation to Dean. Nope, Dean didn't mind one bit. He raised the glass to his lips and took a healthy swallow of liquor. Not one bit.

* * *

_Don't know what I'm gonna do 'bout this feelin' inside. Yes it's true, loneliness took me for a ride, yeah. Without your love, I'm nothin' but a beggar. Without your love, a dog without a bone. What can I do, I'm sleeping in this bed alone. Babe, you're my-_

In one abrupt motion, Dean flipped the station and sent Def Leppard blaring through the Impala. Idly, he turned it up a bit. Sam glanced his way. "Dean, what are you doing? You love Aerosmith."

"Yeah, not feeling it today," Dean replied, drumming his fingers to the beat of the song. "How far off are we?"

"'Bout another hour or so." Sam waited a beat before saying, "Hey, Dean-" Dean knew that tone. It was the I'm-about-to-start-a-serious-conversation tone. "-do you think maybe we should be trying a little harder to get the angels back in heaven? I mean, they could do a lot of damage here on earth."

Dean kept his eyes glued on the road. "You heard what Crowley said. The spell's irreversible."  
"I know, but-"

"Sam, we've done enough for those winged dicks. We've got Kevin on it still; isn't that enough?" he asked. "It's not our job. Our job is to hunt demons and keep people safe. Other than the few psychos, the angels aren't hurting anybody, and as long as it stays that way, I don't care if they're here or there."

Dean could see Sam's frown out of the corner of his eye, but whatever his response was got cut off by the ringing of his Dean's cell phone. "Smoke On the Water" got louder as Dean took one hand off the wheel and dug his phone out of his back pocket. He flipped it open without looking at the caller. "Hello?"

"Dean," a breathless voice said on the other end.

"Cas?" Dean asked, blinking. "Cas, you okay?"

"For the moment. I'm sorry to ask this, but… I need your help," he said. Dean could hear the suppressed panic in his voice, like someone just barely off the peak of an adrenaline high. There was a rustle of the phone against Cas's ear before he continued, "Some of the angels have found me, and they're not on my side."

Dean didn't need any more. "Where are you?"

"A town called Wallace, West Virginia," Cas replied.

Moving the phone to his neck for a moment, Dean whispered to Sam urgently, "Wallace, West Virginia. How far?"

As Sam typed it into the navigational system, he asked, "What's going on?"

"How far?" Dean demanded, trying to force down whatever was tightening up his throat.

"About two and a half hours."

Glancing at the map on the screen, Dean palmed the steering wheel and did a tight U-turn so that they were now heading the right direction. He raised the phone to his ear again. "Couple hours, Cas. Can you hold on that long?"

"Yes, I'll be fine. You can find me at a place called Jeremiah's Junk Shop," he said.

"We'll be there soon," Dean promised. "Stay safe."

Cas replied in his usual monotone, "I will. And Dean, thank you."

"Don't mention it," he said, flipping the phone shut and ending the call. Tersely, Dean explained to Sam, "Angels are after Cas. We gotta go save his ass."

"How'd they find him?" Sam asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

"No idea," Dean said in a tone that closed the conversation. He didn't want to talk right now; all he wanted to do was drive. Just drive as fast as he could. There was a writhing pit in Dean's stomach - a knot of worry which he tried to pass off as being normal, but not with much success.

Dean had been hunting long enough to know himself, and this was the kind of worry that he felt whenever Sam was in danger: gut wrenching, terror and fear that something is going to go wrong and they won't both make it out of whatever situation alive. This wasn't the same tension that he felt when confronting, say, a ghoul.

Cas was Dean's best friend, beside his brother. it was completely normal to be worrying this much, to be concerned about him. Cas was family. And Dean would be damned if he let anything happen to him. Pressing down harder on the pedal, Dean urged the Impala to go faster.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean was out of the car almost before it was completely off. The junk shop to which Cas had sent them was just that - junk. It was a dilapidated old building, the shingles crumbling and the painted name peeling off the windows. It was sandwiched between two large apartment buildings, leaving darkened alleys on either side.

"Cas?" Dean called.

The angel-turned-human, stepped out of the open doorway of the shop, his feet crunching on broken glass which littered the front step. "Dean. Sam," he greeted, seeming slightly more enthusiastic than usual. "Thank you for coming."

"'Course," Dean said dismissively. "You okay?" he asked, eying the blood on his side with worry.

"Just a scratch; I'll be fine," Cas promised. "Though, if you don't mind, we ought to get out of here. It's been a few hours since I slipped the angels, but they're bound to catch up soon."

"Fine with me," Sam said, heading back towards the Impala. "I'm not really in the mood for dealing with angry angels anyway."

Cas headed down the low front steps gingerly, wincing ever so slightly. Dean watched him worriedly without realizing he was doing so until Cas met his eyes questioningly. To cover himself, Dean blurted, "You need some help?" He offered a hand.

Cas waved it away. "I'm fine." He straightened up, barely allowing a limp to show as he headed for the back seat of the Impala. Dean shrugged and followed. As he put the car into gear and pulled out, he glanced into the rearview mirror at Cas who had his head leaned back and eyes closed.

"We should probably head straight back to the bunker," Dean said to Sam after he was reasonably certain that Cas had fallen asleep. "The black dog was a long shot anyway."

"I don't know, Dean," Sam said. "I was tracking that article," he said, gesturing at his phone, "and there have been two more deaths since we set out. Are you sure it's not worth looking into?"

Dean mulled it over for a minute. He glanced at the mirror again. "I'm starting to think it is, but… Cas is hurt. He's human now, Sam. He's gonna need some time to recover."

"I'm fine," Cas said again from the back seat. Dean's eyes shot to the mirror yet again, and this time they were met with the startling blue of Castiel's. So, not quite asleep, then. "It was selfish enough of me to ask you to come rescue me; I wouldn't think to ask you to drop whatever case you are on in order to see to my health. It is no worse than I have seen the two of you deal with on multiple occasions. I can handle it."

"But Cas," Sam said, "you're new to being human. New to pain and all that. Are you sure you're alright?"

"How many times do I have to say I'm fine?"

Dean sent Sam a sideways glance, trying to read his decision. "The man says he's fine. I say we take him at his word and keep going. You don't mind working a quick case, do you, Cas?"

"Anything to help," Cas replied.

Sending Sam a look that said, "See?" Dean raised a brow. With a half shrug, Sam gave in.

"Alright. On to Pennsylvania, I guess," he said. "But when we get there, we'll have to get Cas some new clothes and bandage him up."

"You got it," Dean agreed, pulling back out onto the highway. The knot in his stomach had unwound upon finding that Cas was okay, but something still lingered there, something that would flare up whenever Dean caught a glimpse of Cas in the rearview mirror. It was annoying, so he did what seemed natural when it came to feelings he didn't quite understand: ignored them and turned the music up.

* * *

"Listen, we shouldn't waste any more time," Dean said as they pulled into the town of Huntingdon. "How about I drop you off at the station and you see what you can figure out," he told Sam, "and I'll get Cas some fresh clothes, check us into a hotel, then meet up with you, okay?"

"Sure," Sam agreed. He pulled open the glove box. "I'm taking the Agent May ID, in case you need to address me later."

"Got it," Dean said. He turned onto a side road, then pulled up smoothly in front of the police station. "Call me if anything happens."

Sam got out and shut the door, saying, "Will do." He straightened his Fed suit jacket and tucked his badge into his pocket, walking confidently towards the police station.

Dean pulled out, saying, "Well, Cas, whaddya say we get some clothes that actually fit you, huh?"

"I was unaware that my clothes were unsatisfactory," Cas replied.

Dean glanced up, looking amused. "And therein lies the problem."

Cas frowned, but didn't protest as Dean led him through the nearest clothing store, navigating the aisles with efficiency. "Something functional, probably," he mused, glancing at the selection. He grabbed a soft gray V-necked t-shirt and tossed it to Cas who caught it with a bemused look on his face. "We'll get a few." Dean threw him a plain button down and another T-shirt in blue before steering him towards the jean section.

They moved out of the clothes quickly, and picked up some bandages and first aid material on the way out, glad that it was an all purpose store. After they paid and were heading back to the car, Dean looked over at Cas. "You still doing okay?"

"Were you expecting much to have changed in the past half hour?" Cas replied dryly.

"Just checking, man," Dean muttered.

The perks of being in a town as small as Huntingdon was that everything was nice and close together. They were at the single hotel within minutes.

"Two rooms, please," Dean said, leaning his elbows on the front counter.

The concierge typed a few things into the computer before giving Dean a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, we're nearly all booked," she said. "There's a business convention being held at the moment and they've bought up nearly all our rooms. We've only got one left."

"How many beds?" Dean asked.

"Two twins, but with a pull out couch," she replied.

Dean glanced at Cas who was looking around complacently. "We'll take it," he said. The woman smiled and handed over the key. Shopping bag in his hand, Cas lingered for a moment, awkwardly nodding his thanks to the concierge before following Dean down the hall.

As they walked, Dean idly tried to figure out what kind of conference this was. People in business suits passed him, most carrying briefcases. One heavyset man was sweating so profusely that it was starting to show through his jacket. A high stakes profession, then.

"Here we are," Dean said. "One twenty six." He inserted the key, then pushed open the door, holding it for Cas who was moving a bit slow. Dean dropped his bag on the nearest bed, then pointed to the other and commanded, "Sit." Cas sat. Dean made a motion with his hand. "Get that shirt off," he said, realizing a few seconds late how it came out. He added, "Um, so I can see how bad you're hurt."

Cas looked at him blankly, so maybe he hadn't caught that. There was no reason for Dean to be embarrassed, but he couldn't help the heat rising towards his cheeks as Cas stripped off his bloody shirt. He forced down a blush. _Calm down. It's just Cas._

The gash ran from about the middle of his left ribcage to his navel - a jagged line raised in a bright red welt. Blood was caked around the edges, and the tissue was inflamed. "God, Cas. That's no scratch," Dean breathed. "Maybe we _should_ get Sam and head back. Or at least find you a hospital."

"Please, Dean," Cas said. "Just bandage me up here. I swear I'm alright."

Dean hesitated, but agreed. "If you say so. It's going to hurt, but you probably ought to get a shower first. Get the dirt outta there." _And wash away all that blood._

Cas nodded. "Give me a few minutes, then."

"Sure," Dean said, flopping back on the bed with his duffel on it. He kept his eyes glued to the ceiling as Cas walked past, forcing himself not to watch him go. As he heard the water start up, Dean closed his tired eyes, hoping for a few minutes of shut eye before he'd be back on the black dog case. He tried to think over all the lore he knew about black dogs, but somehow his mind kept drifting…

The water shut off all too soon, and when the door to the bathroom opened with a squeak, Dean initially felt a stab of annoyance for having to open his eyes. He sat up, and his annoyance instantly vanished.

Cas stood at the foot of the bed dressed in his new jeans, his skin shining and clean. His hair was obviously still wet, and stuck up in every direction like he'd just ruffled it with a towel. Ignoring the cut on his abdomen, Cas seemed to glow with healthiness, his blue eyes bright. …And Dean suddenly realized he was staring again. He instantly looked away, covering with, "the jeans seem to fit well."

"Extraordinarily so."

Dean worked frantically to gather his shattered thoughts. "Okay, sit back down. Let me bandage you up."

Cas sat obediently as Dean got out the first aid kit and roll of gauze. He ripped open a disinfectant pad and crouched down in front of Cas, noticing for the first time just how muscular he was. Maybe it was an after effect of being an angel and all, but he was _ripped._ Dean swiped the pad over his cut and noticed Cas trying not to wince. "Good thing this isn't much deeper or you'd need stitches," Dean said encouragingly. Cas merely grunted in return.

Dean picked up a tube of antibiotic cream and squirted some on his fingers. "This might sting," he warned. Cas nodded, but didn't say anything. Dean was suddenly a little hesitant to touch him, but got over it, spreading the gel over the cut. He smeared it gently onto the skin around the cut as well, perhaps letting his fingers linger just a little too long. Cas didn't seem to notice.

"Okay, raise your arms," Dean said. Cas obeyed, and Dean pressed a strip of gauze to the sticky substance, then went to wrap it around his stomach. For a brief moment as Dean was passing the roll from one hand to another behind Cas's back, they were practically hugging. He could feel the heat coming off of Cas's clean skin, and was all too aware of the fact that if he tilted his face up just a few inches, they would be nearly touching. He grasped the roll in his left hand and quickly pulled back, finishing the bandaging as fast as he could. "Feel okay?"

"It feels great, thank you," Cas replied, studying Dean with those terribly blue eyes. Why hadn't he noticed their color before today? For a moment, they just stared at each other before Cas broke the silence. "Are we meeting up with Sam now?"

When Dean replied, his voice was a little unfocused. "Yeah. Yeah, we'll meet up with Sam now."

But suddenly there wasn't any place he'd less rather be than checking in with Sam.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean sat back against the headboard of his bed and closed his eyes. He was pleasantly full from dinner, and now all he wanted to do was go to sleep. It was getting late, and they had done just about all they could for the day, save research, which Dean was happy to turn over to Sam. "How's it going?" he asked, cracking one eye open.

"Listen to this," Sam said, "Dagda, the Celtic ruler over life and death. He's said to carry a club." He looked up. "That fits with what that old couple saw."

"And the black dog?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. "Could be his pet. Ruler over life and death, who's to say he doesn't have a death omen on a leash? Maybe he gets off on warning them twenty four hours in advance and then killing them," he said dryly.

Cas spoke up from the couch, "Does it say how he can be killed?"

Sam scanned the page. "It looks like only by his own club. One end of the club is supposed to kill nine men, while the other end can bring them back to life." He clicked a few times. "Oh, here's something: the club can only kill nine men every hundred and forty years. His cycle must be up."

"And he's killed six already," Dean commented. "We better find him before he gets all nine."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "But first I think we all need sleep. That shop-owner was killed this morning, and all of the other murders were spaced out by at least a day. We have a little time."

"Great," Dean said, closing his eyes again. Suddenly remembering that there were only two beds, he sat up. "Oh, yeah, how's this working?"

They all looked at each other, then at the available beds. "Cas, you should take one of the beds," Dean said. "You're hurt."

"Really, I can take the cou-"

"I insist," Dean said. "I'll take the couch."

"No, Dean," Sam protested. "You drove all day yesterday and today. You take the bed, I'll take the couch."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sam, you're like ten feet tall. You're going to fit on that little thing?"

"It pulls out." Dean just stared at him. Sam shrugged, "I'll sleep diagonally."

"Come on, Sam. You can have the bed. I'm cool with the couch," Dean said.

Sam shook his head. "Nope. Goodnight, Dean. Night, Cas." He spread a blanket out on the pull-out and grabbed a pillow from the closet. In minutes he was asleep. Dean envied his ability to do that.  
With a sigh, Dean gave in and got into his own bed, glancing over at Cas before he turned out the light. "Goodnight, Cas," he said quietly, not wanting to disturb Sam too much.

"Goodnight, Dean," Cas replied. "And thank you once again."

"Stop thanking me," Dean muttered, face half buried in his pillow. "You don't need to do that." His eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the dark, so all he could see was black.

Cas's voice drifted through the darkness. "I'm not sure I could ever thank you enough for all the things you've done for me," he said, and Dean could detect the sincerity in his voice. "I don't deserve your kindness."

"Shut up and go to sleep," Dean said, but not roughly.

Dean thought he could hear the smile in Cas's voice as he said again, "Goodnight."

After waiting an absurdly long beat and telling his annoyingly fast heart to calm down, Dean replied, "Night."

The room went quiet, but where Dean was so tired just a moment ago, he was wide awake now. He was alert, but not thinking about the case, or the fact that the angels were barred from heaven, or the king of hell whom they had locked up back in the bunker. No, all he could think about was the former angel who lay sleeping so peacefully less than six feet away, his gentle breathing even and steady.

Trying to get comfortable, Dean rolled onto his side, his eyes now fully adjusted to the dark. Cas lay facing him, asleep. Vaguely aware of how weird it was that he was watching his best friend sleep, Dean couldn't help but consider how soft Cas's lips were, or how beautifully his jaw curved.

Snapping his eyes shut, Dean berated himself internally. He was straight. He had to be; his attraction to women was undeniable. He had never noticed things like the curve of some guy's jaw before. Or could that be because he never had reason to? But this was _Cas. _It was Cas. The angel who had raised him from perdition, the angel who had rebelled for him. It was also the angel who broken the wall in Sam's head, and who had tried to take over the role of God and who had made the angels fall and- But it was Cas. None of that mattered especially because Dean knew his heart was in the right place…most of the time.

For a brief moment, Dean allowed himself to entertain the notion that he might fancy Cas, if he were gay. Which he wasn't. But say he was; there was absolutely no reason to believe Cas would ever feel the same way in return. He was so distant, so oblivious, so…Cas. Sure, he was human now, but at the very core, Cas still didn't understand the subtleties of humanity. Innuendoes and little looks and gestures went right over his head. And if Dean came right out and said something in such a blatant way that Cas would understand, it could ruin their entire relationship. Dean didn't want to lose his friend over some stupid one-off feeling.

But that was all hypothetical anyway.

* * *

"Aw yeah," Dean said, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. "We should stay at hotels with continental breakfast more often."

Sam, unsurprisingly, had a plate with a heap of fruit and a glass of orange juice. He speared a pineapple and rolled his eyes at Dean.

"What…is this?" Cas asked hesitantly, pinching a limp, mostly cooked piece of bacon between his fingers.

"Bacon," Dean replied through a mouthful of food. "Not the best, maybe, but it _is _unlimited."

"I don't think those two even out," Sam commented.

"They do in my book." Dean pushed his plate back and stood. "Time for seconds." He headed back up to the buffet line and grabbed another plate, clean and still warm. As he loaded it up with pancakes, Dean heard someone at the table behind talking loudly, with urgency.

"I told you, it was the Grim!" the man said. "There's tons of stuff about it, I'm not making this up!"

"This ain't no Harry Potter," another voice said gruffly. "Just go get a cup of coffee, Jerry. It was probably all a nightmare."

Dean turned just as Jerry ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He looked familiar; he had been the sweaty guy that Dean had passed in the hall yesterday. With a frown, he wandered over. "Hey there, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I'm from animal control. We're chasing a stray black dog, could you tell us anything about what you saw?"

"See? Just a stray," the other man said smugly.

Jerry shot him a look before telling Dean, "I saw it along the highway, but it… You won't believe me. No one believes me."

Dean tried to look sympathetic. "Try me. Any information you can give us would be helpful."

"Well, I was driving," Jerry said, "and this dog just appeared on the side of the road. It ran out in front of me, and I tried to stop, but… I didn't make it in time. But when I got out to see if I'd hurt it, it was gone. No blood, nothing. Just gone."

"Probably ran off," Jerry's companion added skeptically.

Dean ignored him. "What time did you see the dog?"

"About noon yesterday. I was on my way to lunch," Jerry replied. He wiped his arm across his sweaty brow.

"And what are you doing today? Going to lunch again?" Dean asked. They looked at him oddly. "Just need to make sure it's not a routine thing where the dog is hanging around the highway, you know?"

That explanation didn't make any sense, but Jerry answered anyway, "No, I'm in meetings here all day. The dog is someone else's problem."

Dean scoffed inwardly, knowing just how wrong Jerry was. He clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, thanks for your help. We'll look into it."

Though his food was nearly cold, Dean headed back to his table and sat down eagerly. "Looks like we won't even have to leave hotel," he said. "Dagda's coming to us."


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm still not quite sure how this is supposed to work," Sam whispered to Dean as they headed into the conference room.

"We're just going to keep an eye on the guy. Blend in. Pretend we're….whatever they are," he replied, waving a hand at the men in business suits sitting in rows.

"No, not that," Sam replied. " I mean, how are we supposed to get the club off of this god? Especially when one hit with that club can kill us?"

Dean glanced at him as he moved into the the back row of chairs. "I don't know, Sammy. We'll just wing it like we do everything else." He scanned the crowed, then nodded at someone just across the aisle, a little forward. "There he is. What time is it?"

"Eleven thirty."

"Right, so we just have to listen to… 'Keynote speaker Josh Haverford's Presentation on Marketing in Today's Economy'. Awesome," Dean said sarcastically. People were still milling around, but it seemed like the presentation would be starting soon. Sam tried to fill the silence with conversation.

"How's Cas doing?" he asked.

"You've been with him as much as I have," Dean replied a little too quickly.

Sam nodded. "I know, it's just that you bandaged him up. How bad was it?"

"Bad enough to hurt him for a while. Not bad enough for medical attention," Dean stated flatly.

"You wouldn't know it by the way he keeps insisting that he can help," commented Sam, keeping an eye on their target.

"Cas is tough. A little injury won't slow him down too much." Dean drummed his fingers on his knee. "Good call in forcing him to stay in the room, though. I didn't think he'd go for it."

Sam scoffed, "It was two to one, and he's injured. He didn't have much choice."

"Yeah. Dude needs his rest."

Suddenly, the room quieted down and the apparent leader of the conference stepped up to the podium. "Welcome everybody to today's seminar. If you'd all give your full attention to Mr. Josh Haverford, out keynote speaker," he introduced gesturing towards the side of the little stage and inviting a tall, thin man with shoulder length dark hair up on stage.

There was a polite round of applause as Haverford took the microphone with a broad smile. "Thank you, thank you."

Sam elbowed Dean in the side. "Dean," he said, nodding towards Jerry, the man who had seen the dog the day before. The sweat was rolling off his face in sheets, and he was arguing with the man beside him, the same one as at breakfast, in low tones. "He look freaked out to you?"

"You know what? He certainly does," Dean said slowly. Jerry jabbed a thumb towards the stage where Mr. Haverford stood giving his presentation. He held a wooden pointer in his hand, and when he raised it to highlight something on his powerpoint slide, Jerry visibly flinched. "You don't think that's…?"

"Dagda?" Sam finished. "Could be. Maybe since Jerry's seen the dog, he's the only one who can see him for what he really is - whatever that might be. He can probably see the club too."

"That'd be enough to make anyone sweat," Dean muttered. He looked over as Jerry glanced backwards towards the door. It was obvious that he was deciding whether or not to bolt, but at a sharp punch in the arm from his companion, Jerry seemed to decide against it. He simply buried his head in his hands and looked miserable. No one around him seemed to notice or care. Oblivious. "And the time?"

"Fifteen minutes to noon," Sam said. "Guess we'll just have to wait it out; see what happens."

Time ticked down for Jerry. The presentation would have been boring by itself, but with the adrenaline pumping through Dean's veins, it was downright insufferable. His fingers drummed faster and faster.

"Two minutes," Sam updated him.

And that was when it started. Haverford glanced down at his watch, then back up at the crowd. "What do you say we take a ten minute break?" he proposed. "There are refreshments in the back."

With relief, people started to get out of their seats, heading for the food. Normally, Dean would have been right behind them, but he was on the job, and his job was currently running towards the bathrooms at a pace which seemed physically impossible for the guy. Haverford was still on the stage, but his eyes were glued to Jerry as he ran. Twirling the wooden pointer in his fingers, Haverford stepped smoothly off of the stage, striding towards the bathrooms.

"Let's go," Sam said. Dean didn't need to be told twice. They jogged after them.

Dean burst through the doors of the men's room just as Jerry slumped down against the far wall. "No, no, please…" he begged, raising his hands in a feeble attempt to stop what was now a visibly large club from coming down on this skull. Jerry passed out from the stress, his head going limp. Haverford readied himself for the blow and raised his arm.

"Hey! Dagda!" Dean called loudly, his voice reverberating off of the tile walls. Dagda turned, a sort of fury in his dark eyes. "Since I didn't see the dog, that means you'r not going to kill me, right?"

With a snarl, Dagda lunged at Dean, club ready and waving. Dean sidestepped, throwing his fist out and catching Dagda in the gut. He doubled over and Sam made to grab his club hand, when suddenly he spun, twisting away from Dean, but bringing the club down to hit him squarely in the chest. With a sickening crunch, he was launched backwards into the wall beside the doorway, and the world went black.

* * *

Castiel appeared in the doorway just as Dean fell to the floor. "Dean!" he cried, voice rough. Without thinking, Cas foolishly rushed to Dean's side, checking his pulse. No. No no no no no no. NO. He touched Dean's face more out of reflex than anything else, wishing he still had his angelic powers to heal his friend.

"Ah!" came the cry that made Cas look up and realize that he and Dean weren't alone in a bubble of grief and pain; Sam was fighting Dagda, and he was winning. He swept his knife up in an arc and cut Dagda's hand off cleanly at the wrist. The club clattered to the floor, rolling a bit in Cas's direction.

There was a pregnant pause as everyone looked at it. Dagda made to lunge, but Sam intercepted him, wrapping two long arms around his abdomen and driving him hard against a bathroom stall. "Cas!" he managed through gritted teeth. "The club! Kill him!"

Cas wrapped his hand around the club and remembered what Sam had said before, _One end of the club is supposed to kill nine men, while the other end can bring them back to life._ Dean. Cas looked at Dean's limp body and couldn't resist. He hurried back over to him, touching the knot of wood on the handle to Dean's chest. With a shuddering gasp, Dean opened his bright green eyes and something in Cas fell away. Dean was alive. He was okay. "Wha-" Dean began.

"Cas!" Sam cried. "The clu- ARGH!" he yelled out in pain as Dagda kicked his shin so hard that it shattered. Sam collapsed to the floor, no longer able to support his own weight. Dagda readied another kick, this one aimed right at Sam's head, but Cas got there first. He swung with all his might, ignoring the searing pain in his side as the muscle around his wound twisted. The club caught Dagda in the head, and he was dead before he even hit the ground.

Cas stood over his broken body, holding the club limply in his hand.

Sam gasped in pain, "Took your time there, Cas," he muttered.

"Sam?" Dean asked, scrambling up. "We gotta get you to a hospital," he said. The look in Dean's eyes as he crouched over his injured brother was one of such tenderness that it was nearly out of place on his face. There was such open love in his gaze, love and concern, and Cas wondered if Dean was capable of feeling that way for anyone but his brother. Was that level of such deep, raw, emotion unattainable by someone who wasn't blood?

Throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder, Dean added, "Someone probably heard something. We need to get out of here."

Cas put a hand on Dean's arm. "Take Sam and go. I'll come up with a story, then get us checked out. I'll meet up with you."

Dean hesitated. "Are you sure, Cas? How are you going to explain… this?" he asked, waving a hand at the carnage and destruction.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Get Sam help." _After all, it's my fault he needs it._ If only he had killed Dagda and _then_ resurrected Dean…Cas forced himself to focus. "Go."

With a nod, Dean scooped Sam up in his strong arms, carrying him towards the doorway. He paused, looking back. "Thanks for saving my ass, Cas. Guess we were wrong to count you out."

Cas simply nodded once and watched as Dean disappeared around the corner. He glanced around. He'd have to do some quick thinking to explain this one.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean sat in a flimsy chair next to Sam as the doctor finished up and left the room. He jerked a thumb towards the cast that encased Sam's shin. "Nice cast. Want me to sign it?"

"Shut up, Dean," Sam said miserably. "Eight weeks. Eight freaking weeks."

"Hey, we deserve some time off anyway. You're hurt, Cas is hurt… We'll just go back to the bunker for a bit and recover," Dean said easily. "Hell, let's get back there before _I_ get hurt."

"You know, speaking of Cas," started Sam hesitantly. He broke off with a frown.

Dean looked at him expectantly. "Yeah? What happened anyway, did I black out?"

Sam gave him a quizzical look. "No, Dean. You died."

"Oh. Right," he said, swallowing hard. "Well, what else is new."

"But that's the thing," Sam said. "Cas came in just as you… died, and…"

"And what?"

"And when he got the club, he used it to save you before killing Dagda," Sam admitted. "I mean, I'm not mad - I'm definitely glad you're alive - but if Cas had killed him and _then _saved you, I wouldn't have this," he said, slapping the plaster on his leg.

Dean frowned. "Maybe he thought the club's power would die with Dagda," he proposed, not entirely believing it himself.

"Yeah, maybe."

Cas had saved Dean before rescuing Sam. Dean wasn't quite sure what to make of this, so he stored it away to think about later. Punching Sam lightly on the arm, he said, "Come on. Let's get out of here."'

They checked out of the hospital and drove back to the hotel, finding Cas waiting in the parking lot. He stood stiffly next to a dumpster, looking forlorn. All of their bags rested by his feet. Dean approached him, leaving Sam in the Impala.

"Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Dean," came Cas's automatic reply. Dean looked at him, and Cas did that little thing where his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, as if trying to figure Dean out with merely a glance. "I sent the cops away."

"How'd you manage that?" Dean asked, mildly impressed.

Cas looked off, over Dean's shoulder. "I did the normal thing. I pretended I had been knocked out the whole time, and that the culprit had already escaped."

Dean nodded. "And they bought it?"

"They did," he replied. "I did manage to hold on to the club, though. Judging by the fact that it killed Dagda and… you, it should have one kill and resurrection left in it. It could be useful one day."

"Good thinking," Dean said, not entirely caring at the moment. "Listen, Cas… Sam said you resurrected me before killing Dagda. You… Did you have a reason for that?"  
Cas's brows furrowed, and he got that confused look on his face which was downright adorab-

"Yes, I wanted you alive," Cas replied.

"No, I mean did you have a reason for saving me _first_? Sam was fighting a freaking deity. I was already dead, that wasn't changing; why didn't you save him first?" Dean stared at him, waiting for an answer. Cas met his eyes, but they were filled with something unfathomable and Dean couldn't quite get a read on him.

When Cas spoke, it was slowly, hesitantly. "It just…seemed like the right thing to do. I'm sorry, Dean, I have no explanation."

Dean studied him for a minute, then gave in, clapping him on the arm. "Well, we're all more or less alright. Sam will heal in a few weeks. I'm alive, so thanks for that. I guess the rest doesn't really matter, does it?" Cas just frowned. Dean continued, "We're going to head back to the bunker now; take a little time off to recoup. You're coming back with us, aren't you?"

"Am I?" Cas asked.

"Uh, do you want to?" Dean asked, shifting his weight.

Cas shot back, "Do you want me to?"

"Of course, Cas. I'm sorry for kicking you out last time, but Sam's angel-free now, so you're good-"

"Not to mention the fact that I'm no longer an angel either."

Dean shrugged. "Well, there's that. But I guess what I'm trying to say is that there's nothing stopping you from crashing at the bunker. The place is big enough; there's plenty of space."

Cas nodded. "If you are offering, I accept."

"I'm offering."

"Then I accept."

"Good."

"Good."

By sudden silent consensus, they each picked up a bag and headed for the car. As they drove away, Dean was left wondering why he felt so filled with nervous excitement. One glance in the rearview mirror was all the explanation he needed.

* * *

Dean tossed his keys onto the table next to the bunker door, then held it open for Sam to hobble through on crutches. He had trouble fitting through the door, and Dean had trouble keeping a grin off his face.

"Shut up," Sam muttered. Dean only smiled wider. Cas followed Sam into the bunker, looking tired and a little worn. The car drive had been long on top of their already hard day. Dean's body was begging for sleep, but his stomach was more interested in food.

"How 'bout I fry up a few burgers, then we all get some rest, huh?" Dean offered.

Cas nodded. "That sounds excellent. Thank you, Dean." Sam grunted his agreement as he slumped down on the couch, propping his cast up on the coffee table.

Dean glanced between them for a minute before heading for the kitchen, methodically preparing his favorite food. They ate in silence; anything interesting that could have been said between them had already been during the long drive. Sam left his empty plate on the table and grabbed his crutches. "I think I'm gonna turn in, guys. Goodnight. Or morning. Or whatever it is."

"See ya," Dean said, finishing off the last of his own burger. When they were alone, Dean and Cas sat in awkward silence, both of them finished eating, neither of them talking. Their eyes skirted around the room until at last Dean said, "So, uh, want me to show you to one of the guest rooms?"

"I know where they are," Cas said flatly.

"Right." Another long moment went by. "Your bandage needs changed," Dean said.

Cas stood, gathering up the empty plates. "You're tired, Dean. It can wait."

"Don't worry about me," Dean said dismissively. "Go wash up, then I'll change it for you. It won't take long." He took the plates from Cas and waited a beat. Cas didn't move. "What?"

Cas tilted his head in that scrutinizing manner of his. "Why are you so kind to me, Dean?"

"You're my friend, Cas. Hell, you're family. It's what family does," Dean said. Even as he said that, Dean knew it wasn't quite the truth. He knew that he never had and never would feel the same about Cas as he did Sam, but some part of him was glad for that. It left other doors open. After all, it would be weird to think about Sam in the way that he sometimes thought about Cas when his forehead scrunched up like he was trying to figure Dean out like a puzzl- Dean cleared his throat.

"But even after all that I did. Dean, I nearly drove Sam insane. I declared myself God, I put you in terrible danger more times than I can count. I don't talk to you in weeks, then call you up and expect you to rescue me," Cas said miserably. "How could I expect anything but hatred from you? I don't deserve your kindness."

"Yes you do," Dean replied immediately. "Yes you do, man, because you've saved my butt more than once too. You're the one who 'gripped me tight and raised me from perdition'," he said, mimicking Cas. "Remember that? You freaking pulled me out of hell. You've always been there for me, man, and I mean that. Because when you went dark side, it wasn't_ you _anymore. But you're back now. Hell, you brought me back to life yesterday, and you don't think you deserve a cheeseburger and a bed to crash on? So yeah, you don't owe me anything. Now go get a shower so I can change your bandage."

Looking a little bewildered, Cas nodded at him, then left the room. Dean let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Once he had started talking, the words just spilled out of him. Honest outbursts really weren't his style, Dean thought. He'd have to watch those.

Since the bunker had once been home to the more community oriented Men of Letters, the showers and bathrooms were all communal. Dean walked past the door and heard the water start up, so he gathered up some medical supplies and took them to Cas's room, figuring he'd wait there.

Dean sat down on the bed, realizing, not for the first time, just how uncomfortable the seats of the Impala could get on long drives. The soft bed was a blessing. The pounding of water hitting the floor still echoed down the hallway, so Dean leaned back, resting his back against the headboard. He didn't mean to fall asleep, but the moment he closed his eyes, he was completely out. When he dreamt, it was inexplicably of heaven.

* * *

Cas returned to his room wearing a pair of sweatpants which Dean had bought for him. He hadn't put on a shirt, so the cut on his abdomen was exposed, ready for a new bandage. It didn't look quite as bad as the day before, Cas thought. Some of the inflammation had gone down, but it would still need some healing. He missed the days when he didn't have to worry about things such as infection.

Coming to an abrupt stop in the doorway, Cas took in the scene before him - Dean sitting almost upright, his head lolled back against the wall behind the headboard. He'd forgotten what it was like to watch over Dean as he slept; it had been so long since his angelic duties were so simple. Looking at Dean now brought those memories back in sharp relief: the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the slight downturn of his mouth, the peaceful expression on his face.

Sometimes Cas was just glad to see that his eyes were closed, because that meant he didn't have to look into them to find pain, or hurt, or fear. While he was asleep, Dean looked as tranquil as Cas thought he deserved to be all the time. And, with this in mind, Cas didn't have the heart to wake him up, not even to move him to his own bed. Instead, he took a spare throw blanket and threw it over Dean, then gathered up the medical supplies and moved to the next guest room.

Cas clumsily managed to bandage himself, but it didn't offer the same relief that it had when Dean did it. Maybe he hadn't wrapped it tight enough, or put enough antibiotic. Maybe it was something else. Though it felt like his wound was on fire, Cas ignored it and lay down on his bed. As he lay there, he thought about how hard it was to grapple with all of these new human feelings, like pain and hunger. So far, he'd been doing pretty well, and some of the sensations he even enjoyed. Like dreaming. Cas loved to dream, because usually he thought of heaven, or watching the birds and bees for hours. Dreams were such an escape from the pain of humanity; such a relief. However, tonight as Cas fell asleep, he experienced something new for the first time, but certainly not the last.

He had a nightmare.


	6. Chapter 6

"Dean!" a muffled shout came floating into Dean's subconscious. He struggled to awareness, groggily wondering if he'd heard anything, or had just imagined it. "Dean!" the shout came again, sounding pained.

Wide awake now, Dean launched out of bed, only sparing a split second to wonder why he was in a guest room rather than his own. He ran towards the next room, from which the shout seemed to be coming. He threw open the door and flipped the light on to find Cas sitting bolt upright with a terrified look on his face. "Cas? What's wrong?"

"I…" he trailed off, looking confused. Feeling awkward standing, Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cry out like that; I think I was still mostly asleep."

"God, Cas, I thought you were being murdered," Dean muttered, his relief palpable.

Cas closed his eyes for a second. "I don't know what happened. It was like a dream, but it was…bad. It was terrible."

"So you had a nightmare," Dean explained.

"A nightmare?" Cas asked.

"Yeah, like a really bad dream. The worst you could have," he said. "The kind that leaves you sweating and scared, and, sometimes, calling out in your sleep. We've all been there."

"I had a nightmare, then."

Dean scratched his neck idly, wondering what he was supposed to do in a situation like this. It had been years since Sammy had gotten a nightmare, or at least since he'd mentioned getting one. Dean had never been good at the comforting thing. "Uh…do you want to talk about it?"

"Will that help?"

"Sometimes it does."

Cas nodded. "Okay. We were in the bathroom of the hotel, like yesterday, and you were dead. So I took the club…and I touched it to you, but it didn't work. You didn't come back. I didn't have my powers, and I didn't know how to save you," he said, voice tight. "Nothing I did worked. I…couldn't save you." Cas kept his eyes trained on the comforter draped over his legs.

Dean blinked. "Cas, it's not your job to save me. One day I'm gonna die, and I don't want you beating yourself up over it. It's not your job."

Cas stared at him, like he was chewing on some words, trying to say them, or maybe trying not to. Eventually, he settled with, "I'm sorry for waking you, Dean."

"Don't be. I got enough sleep anyway. It's time for me to get up and moving," he said. Cas yawned, rolling his shoulders back. Dean couldn't help but glance at the way his muscles moved under that smooth v-neck… "So, uh, did you get a bandage on that thing? That cut?" Dean asked, words not quite coming smoothly this morning. "Sorry I crashed on you, man. You shoulda woken me up."

"I bandaged it myself. I'm not sure I did it right, though," Cas added with a frown. "Would you… would you take a look?"

Take a look at Cas's bare, muscled chest? "Sure," Dean replied, hoping he hadn't said that too quickly. He stood up, allowing Cas to throw off the covers and swing his legs over the side of the bed. He stripped off his shirt in one smooth motion, allowing Dean to see the loose and sagging bandage underneath. Amongst other things.

"It's really loose," Dean said. "Why don't I just re-do it?"

Cas nodded gratefully as Dean gathered up the supplies. Where he had rushed through the first bandaging because of the awkwardness of such close proximity, this time Dean went slower. He felt a little guilty about letting his feelings run wild with something that could never be, but not guilty enough to stop. "Just making sure I do it right this time," Dean said in way of explanation of his slowness.

"Take your time," Cas replied. Dean almost smirked, but caught himself.

When he finished up, he stepped away, annoyed at how his heart sank. "All done. How's it feel?"

Cas moved a little, his muscles rippling. "Good. Thank you."

Dean nodded. "Well, I think I'm going to go get some breakfast. Need anything and you know where to find me." He got the impression that Cas was about to say something, but then changed his mind. He simply nodded, and then Dean was out the door.

* * *

For the next week, Dean tried to ignore the feelings that were growing inside him, and so he tried to ignore Cas. Whenever he was with Cas, he'd make sure Sam was there as well, almost to keep him in check. Whether that helped relieve the tension or made it worse, Dean wasn't entirely sure. What he did know, however, was that being alone with Cas would spell disaster. He refused to give in to his emotions and ruin one of the best friendships that he'd ever had. He refused.

Dean flipped a page in an old journal of one of the Men of Letters and drummed lightly on the arm of his chair. Sam looked up. "What's with you lately, anyway?" he asked. "Since when have you liked reading so much?"

"Just thought I'd keep you company," Dean said with a little shrug.

"I'm perfectly okay with reading on my own, Dean," Sam said. "Why don't you go help Cas with dinner? I think he's trying to make spaghetti, and you and I both know how that went last time."

Sauce. Everywhere. Still, Dean shook his head. "He'll be fine." He looked back down at his book, but wasn't really reading the words. From the corner of his eye, Dean could tell that Sam was still looking at him.

"Dean, is something up with you two?"

"Huh?"

"You and Cas," he said. "Something seems off with you."

Dean replied dismissively, "Nah, we're fine."

Sam looked unconvinced, but turned back to his own reading. Dean stared at the same page for over ten minutes, not comprehending a word. If he was being honest with himself, he wasn't convinced either. In the past week, there were at least three times when Dean woke up in the middle of the night with the strange urge to check on Cas, to make sure that he wasn't having nightmares again. And, again, when Cas winced while Dean changed his bandages, he wanted to do something, anything, to alleviate his pain. He also wanted to keep running his hands over Cas's chest far after the salve had gone from his fingers, but that was another matter.

Dean shut down this line of thought again, like he had so many times before. He closed his mind to it, said no to his feelings. It was the same thing he had done to stop himself from knocking on Cas's door at three in the morning. It was the same thing he would continue to do every time Cas got a little too close, or gave that cute little smile, or looked confused.

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but Dean said no.

* * *

Dean lasted only four more days before he found himself alone with Cas. He couldn't sleep, so he had gotten up and put in Pearl Harbor, one of his favorite movies. Partway through, he heard footsteps in the corridor behind him.

"Hello, Dean."

Damn. "Hey, Cas," Dean said, trying to keep his voice neutral. "It's one in the morning; you shouldn't be up."

"Neither should you," Cas retorted, coming around the couch and sitting down next to Dean, barely an arms length away.

Dean watched the movie for a second. Unable to accept Cas's presence simply for what it was, he asked, "Another nightmare?"

Cas nodded reluctantly. "The same as the last."

Dean didn't know what to say, so he let it drop. After a few minutes of watching, Cas gestured to the screen. "Are they brothers?"

"In everything but blood," Dean replied. "Danny and Rafe grew up together. They're best friends," he explained. Once he got started, though, he couldn't stop. In a few minutes, Dean had summarized everything that Cas had missed. He even admitted that one of the reasons he liked this movie so much was that it reminded him of him and Sam - brothers fighting side by side.

"So Danny doesn't know that Rafe's alive?" he asked, trying to make sense of this.

"Not yet," Dean said. "Neither does Evelyn."

Cas nodded in comprehension. "Ah. Awkward."

"Very."

They turned back to the movie in silence, watching nearly all of it before saying another word. When it got to the emotional part, Dean's face contorted in sympathy before noticing the silent tears that streaked down Cas's face. "Okay there, Cas?" Dean asked gently.

He swiped at them angrily. "She didn't even tell him! How could she not tell him?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess sometimes people think it's better to keep a secret if it helps the other person stay out of danger. If she'd have told Danny, and Danny was distracted and died, then she never would have been able to forgive herself." Realizing that he was no longer strictly talking about the movie, Dean looked away.

"How is what happened any better?"

"It's not always," Dean said. "It just seems like a good idea at the time. You know what they say, hindsight is 20/20."

"Life would be easier if everyone was just honest," Cas commented.

"Yeah," Dean muttered. "Yeah, it would."

They fell silent again until the last bars of the credits scrolled past, and Dean shut off the TV. "Well, what'd you think?"

"It was an excellent movie. Truly emotional," he said.

There was a moment of silence. Cas shifted on the couch so that he was facing Dean a little more head on. "Listen, Dean… I was wondering if I could ask you something."

Dean looked Cas in the eyes and found himself saying, "Sure, Cas." What about distance? he berated himself. He should have said, _Why don't you wait and ask Sam? He'll be more helpful_. But Dean could no longer control his words.

"That movie got me thinking that we don't always have forever to say the things we need to, or want to. Time is fragile, people die. And…" he licked his lips nervously. "Well, what do I do if I really like somebody, but I don't know how they feel in return?"

Dean could feel his heart hammering in his chest. "You've met someone?"

"You could say that."

Cas met someone. Dean wished his heart didn't plummet quite as much as it did at that realization. He wanted to ask a million questions. When was it? While he was human? Who was she? Was she pretty? Was she good enough for him? Did she know about the whole angel thing? But what came out of his mouth was, "Do you plan on seeing them again?"

"Oh, yes. Very much so," Cas replied.

"And…uh… do you have any idea how they think of you?"

Cas thought about this. "Well they consider me a friend, I think. But I am hesitant to want something more for fear of jeopardizing what we have."

That was something Dean understood all too well. He swallowed hard and gave Cas the hypocritical advice that he'd been telling himself not to follow for weeks now. "Then I guess I'd say to just go for it. Tell her the truth. Like you said, life's short. Who knows, she could die tomorrow and you'd never get to tell her."

Cas looked down. He muttered, "It's already happened more times than I can bear," so quietly that Dean missed it.

"What was that?" he prompted.

Looking up now, meeting Dean's eyes, Cas replied, "It's not a she."

Everything around Dean seemed to stop. "Oh."

"Dean, it's you."

Dean blinked, wondering if he had just imagined those words coming out of Cas's mouth, wondering if they had been nothing more than wishful thinking. He stared at Cas, wanting to move closer, wanting so much to reply with what he was really feeling, but at that inopportune time, words from Crowley, of all people, echoed in his mind, _People in your general vicinity don't have much of a lifespan._ And then his own words came back again with more biting truth than he'd ever wanted, _I'm poison, Sam. People get close to me, they get killed or worse._

Dean felt like he was going to be sick. While all this was running through his head, he had simply been staring at Cas, who now looked devastated and embarrassed. Dean wanted to say something, to explain, but the words wouldn't come out. "Cas, I can't… I-I don't-"

Cas shook his head quickly, standing up. "It's okay. I understand. I'm sorry I said anything. I'm sorry."

Trying to call out but not finding the voice, Dean simply watched as Cas disappeared around the corner. He sank back on the couch miserably. This should have been a good moment, a moment which Dean never saw coming, but appreciated none the less. The moment when Dean found out that his feelings for Cas were actually reciprocated, against all odds. Instead, he'd ruined it. He'd done the one thing he would give anything to avoid: he had hurt Cas.

Dean tried to tell himself that it was better this way, that Cas was safer, but the words sounded hollow in his ears. Maybe that's because they were.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean was miserable. In only days it had gone from Dean avoiding Cas to Cas avoiding Dean, and he didn't like it one bit. He wanted so badly to just explain to Cas how he felt, and why they couldn't be together. But whenever he tried to talk to him, Cas seemed to find the sudden urge to busy himself with anything and everything, and the bunker was so large that Dean could go hours without seeing him at all.

Then again, it was the most awkward when he did see him. Talking Dean's strategy from earlier, Cas somehow fixed it so that Sam was always present when he was. At dinner, Dean would send Cas glances that clearly said _we need to talk_, but he never saw them. He would keep his eyes down, or on other things, but never Dean.

Cas was hurt and embarrassed, and every time Dean saw it, he became a little more hurt, a little more embarrassed himself. It was a thoroughly lose-lose situation. One day after a dinner of cold sandwiches, Cas stood up to take the food back to the kitchen, and Dean stood up with him.

"I'll help," he offered.

Shaking his head, Cas turned away. "No, I got it."

Dean insisted, "No, really. I'll help." He scooped up some plates and cups and made to follow Cas to the kitchen.

"No, Dean," Cas said in a hard tone. Without looking back, he walked away.

For a moment, Dean stood forlornly looking after him, dirty dishes in hand. Slowly, he set them on the table.

"What was that about?" Sam demanded.

Dean didn't look at him. "If you need me, I'll be in my room," he said flatly.

"Dean, wait."

Dean didn't stop. He went to his room and shut the door, leaning his back against it and letting himself slide down to the floor. Closing his eyes, Dean wondered how long he could stay in here and avoid his problems. Why did these feelings have to come along and complicate matters? They'd done just what he'd expected them to do - ruin a perfectly good friendship.

* * *

Dean told himself everything imaginable to get rid of the ache in his chest, but nothing worked. He ended up just sitting on his bed, staring at the wall. He wanted Cas; he didn't think he could deny that any longer, and Cas wanted him, so that wasn't an issue. The issue was the fact that Dean couldn't, _wouldn't_ watch Cas suffer the ill effects of being around him, of being someone he cared about.

As Crowley had aptly pointed out, those he cared about had a tendency to die because of it.

It wasn't until several hours later that Sam came knocking on his door. "Dean?" He waited. Dean didn't reply. "Dean, open up."

"Go away," he rasped grumpily.

"Dean, Cas is leaving."

Dean straightened out of his slouch. "What?"

"Just open the door, will you?" Sam said in frustration.

Crossing the room quickly, Dean threw open the door. Sam stood there looking tired. "Cas is leaving. I don't know what happened between the two of you, so I won't try to stop him, but… I thought you might. He's packing now."

Sam graciously left, not pressuring Dean into anything, but maybe Dean needed the pressure. _He's better off going_, he told himself, but he wasn't sure whether he meant that in terms of Cas's safety or relieving the awkwardness between them. After all, there were still a crap ton of angels who wanted him dead.

Even so, Dean _had_ to explain before Cas left. He couldn't just allow him to leave thinking that he didn't like him, or didn't want him around. Clenching his fists and gathering his courage, Dean headed for Cas's room.

The door was open, and Cas's back was to it as he packed his few garments in a suitcase on the bed. Dean stood in the doorway for a minute before making his presence known. "Hey, Cas."

Cas froze, but didn't turn around. "Hello, Dean."

Suddenly, Dean's mouth felt very dry. "Cas…can we talk?"

"Aren't we now?" Cas replied snappily.

Dean couldn't help smiling softly. At least the factual attitude was a part of Cas which he understood. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess we are." Not waiting for an invitation, Dean stepped farther into the room. Cas still didn't turn around.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Dean began, "Listen, Cas, about what you said the other nigh-"

"It was inappropriate, and I apologize," Cas blurted. "I'm going to leave now, and I promise you won't have to worry about it again."

Dean was silent for a minute. "Cas, you leaving isn't going to stop me worrying about it."

Cas spun, his blue eyes like bottomless wells of emotion, of pain. "Then what do you want me to do?" he demanded. "I'm sorry, Dean, but I can't take back what I said."

"It won't stop me worrying about it because I don't _want _to stop worrying about it," Dean blurted. Cas froze. Dean blushed, but pushed on. "I don't want you to take back what you said because it's something I've been wanting to say. I just…didn't think you felt the same way."  
Cas blinked at him, too shocked for words. "You…You feel the same way?"

"God, Cas. Why do you think I've been avoiding you? I thought that if I could distance myself, the feelings would go away," Dean admitted. "If I didn't have to look at those damned blue eyes, or the way you smile, or how your forehead crinkles when you're confused." He swallowed. "I knew it could never happen, so I didn't see much point in letting myself go wild."

Taking a step forward, Cas asked, with a hopeful look in his eyes, "Why can't it happen?"

Dean looked down at the floor, clenching his jaw. He breathed in and out carefully before replying, "Because all I do, all I've ever done, is hurt the people I love. I drag them down, I get them killed. I… you're too good, Cas. I care too much about you, and I won't see that happen to you too. I just won't." He closed his eyes waiting for Cas's reply, not knowing what to expect. After a minute, he looked up, wondering at his silence.

Cas was twirling a string in his fingers. "You know, I was wrong back then when I said this was worthless," he said, holding it up so that Dean could see the amulet which Sam had given him attached to the cord. "I was angry. I had lost all hope, and when you threw this away… I thought for a minute that you'd lost all hope too. I thought you would give up, that you'd stop fighting, and that made me sad.

"I went back for it, after you left," he said. "I didn't really know why at the time. It just seemed like something too important to be left there. And… I've carried it with me, since then. I've used it to remind myself that this is what I'm fighting for - this love between two brothers. Something so pure that it generates hope, generates will, all on its own. You didn't give up hope that day, Dean. You just found it inside you, not through an amulet."

Dean watched as Cas wound the cord around his hand, then slipped it off and set it on the bed. He was glad that he wasn't expected to speak, for he wouldn't have had any words to say.

"Ever since that day," Cas continued, still not meeting his eyes, "I've decided that I want to be someone who inspires that same hope in you. I want to be someone who makes you keep fighting, no matter how bad it gets. And I wanted to be there for you, to fight for you, always." He added quietly, "I failed miserably at that part, but when I fought to come back, it was always for you. It's always been for you. And I've never had any reason to expect that to be reciprocated, and for a while I was okay with that. But then… I guess I just couldn't take it any longer."

Now Cas was the one looking down as Dean stared at him in awe. So many thoughts were running around his head, but one was more powerful than all the rest. So powerful, in fact, that it took control of Dean's body, urging him to take a step forward and gently guide Cas's chin up to look him in the eye.

"Cas," he muttered, but no other words came. He didn't need them, but instead bent down and pressed his lips to Cas's in a fervent release of the feelings which he'd had bottled up for weeks. Cas seemed startled at first, but then kissed back with just as much passion. Abruptly, Dean broke it off. "I can't do this. I'm sorry."

"Dean-"

"Cas, I can't," Dean said, pain in his voice. "You'll only get hurt." He turned away.

"Dean Winchester," Cas said almost angrily. "If I wasn't okay with the risk of being your friend, would I have rebelled against heaven for you? More than once? Would I refrained from stabbing you through the heart? I've seen you die more times than anyone in my long history; I'm fully aware of the risk." He had a hardened look in his eyes which Dean couldn't deny was highly attractive. "But I'm tired of playing it safe, Dean. I want you, and I'm ready to accept every damn thing that comes with you."

Dean's heart was pounding so fast that it had to have been audible. He knew what he was about to say was reckless and impulsive, but he was beyond caring. "I want you too, Cas. I'll protect you, I swear I will," he said softly. Dean pulled Cas close by the hips and kissed him again, trying not to sigh with the satisfaction of finally being able to do this after wanting for so long.

When at last he pulled away, Cas laid his head against Dean's shoulder. "I know you will, Dean. I've never doubted that you would."

Dean smiled. "So you'll stay, then?"

"You're not getting rid of me now."

Laughing, Dean pushed Cas to arm's length, just to study him. "I've never realized just how beautiful your eyes were."

"I've never stopped realizing how beautiful yours were," Cas responded.

Dean smiled, a warm feeling rising in his chest, followed by a sinking, terrible weight. "Cas… can we…not tell Sam yet? I, uh… I need a little time to figure things out."

Cas smiled gently. "Of course. I understand," he said. "This must be odd for both you and him due to your previous associations exclusively with women."

"Yeah, that," Dean said, marveling at how something phrased so tediously could sound cute coming out of Cas's mouth. He let his eyes drift to Cas's lips, and suddenly they were kissing again, leaving Dean wondering why they'd waited so long.


End file.
